


One's friends are that part of the human race with which one can be human

by kaitlia777



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaptation is Key.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic is set in the movieverse, I’m not a big fan of the hostility between Cap and Tony in the trailer, so I’ve turned that down a notch

He'd been hiding.

Steve wasn't particularly proud of that fact, but, given the circumstances, he thought he was due a little downtime. After all, there wasn't exactly a typical, by the book reaction to discovering that you’d just spent 70 years frozen in ice and that everyone you knew and loved was dead.

Fury kept giving him these looks, like he was thinking, _What the fuck do I do with you?_

It was a look Steve was very familiar with, as it had been Colonel Phillips constant expression when regarding Steve before he’d undergone Erskine’s treatment.

Holing up for a few weeks in the basement of a strange government facility didn't seem an odd idea at the time. In fact, it was soothing, unlike the rest of the cold, sterile building. There was a small apartment (food appeared without him ever knowing how) and a rundown boxing gym, similar to the one in the neighborhood he'd grown up in. He didn't want to think about why they had the area all set up, because that led to far too many questions and, for the moment, he didn’t want to ask. The men and women of S.H.I.E.L.D., while nice, were all so…different.

Still, by the time Fury made his appearance at the gym with his cryptic statement about saving the world, Steve was almost ready to begin attempting to rejoin the rest of humanity.

Moving into an above ground apartment (S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ had a dozen spread over several floors in one wing of the building) was a big step. It was a nice place, the bed comfortable and the view amazing, much nicer than anything he’d had at the rooming house he’d lived in before enlisting. Agent Hill had even set up a small computer on the desk, something he thought was really interesting. He had no real idea how to use the technology, but, from what Hill said, it sounded like a very useful tool.

So far he'd managed to turn it on (the little power button was fairly obvious), but was unsure how to proceed from there. Every time he tried to make it do…anything, the screen turned blue and refused to respond. 

Perhaps, he decided, this was just one of the many things that would take some time for him to get used to in this new century. His ability to adapt was one of the few things he was certain of.

The rest of the room was comfortingly timeless. The walls had been painted a pale tan and the plain, white drapes matched the bed linens. There was a rather insubstantial dresser and night stand, the former holding a radio, the latter a lamp and an alarm clock. A selection of books with titles like _The World Transformed: 1945 to the Present: A Documentary Reader_ , _The Making of Modern America: The Nation from 1945 to the Present_ and a handmade booklet of typed pages entitled _Modern Language: A Guide to Determine If Something is Cute and Old Fashioned or Just Downright Offensive._ filled four shelves of a five shelf bookcase, but it was the contents of the fifth shelf that made him smile.

Several 9x12 sketch pads and smaller moleskin journals were stacked beside an array of containers, each holding different art supplies. Graphite pencils of varying hardness, charcoal, sketch sticks, pastels, erasers, and sharpeners…even a whole rainbow of colored pencils. Paints were held in a wooden case below the sketchpads and atop the pile was a small, leather bound folio that held a few pencils and a sketch pad, clearly something that would fit in a pocket for portability.

It was nice, but a little startling, that, all these years later, his fondness for art was still known. 

What would really help him feel at ease though was his shield. He had asked about it several times, but Director Fury explained that Vibranium was still incredibly rare and the science staff was inspecting it, not harming it in any way, just studying it. It would be returned, he was assured, in the same condition as when it came out of the ice.

It didn't take him long to put away the few clothes he'd been issued, so, sticking the folio into his pocket, Steve left the room determined to interact with, or at least observe, the other men and women at S.H.I.E.L.D.. As it was the middle of the night, he figured it would be a little less overwhelming.

Director Fury had told him he was free to explore the building. There were restricted areas, but he was told they would be inaccessible without a passkey. That was all right with Steve, as he understood how secret government facilities worked… or at least how they'd worked in his day.

At first, he encountered only suited men and women who greeted him with terse nods, but were clearly in too much of a hurry to talk. A young woman in a white Naval uniform offered him a salute and a real smile, the friendliness of the gesture doing a lot to calm Steve’s nerves.

As he walked the halls, he peered into offices and labs. In one particular room, a few people in lab coats were fiddling with a strange looking machine. One of them was wearing a welding mask and brandishing a torch and Steve was reminded of Howard's lab on base….

“You lost?”

Steve was startled from his reverie and turned towards the voice, looking down and to the left. A young woman, with loose, wavy, dark hair framing her pale face, peered up at him with a bright smile. Seeing her expression filled him with a sense of relief, as most people here seemed so grim.

“Oh, no, thank you,” he said, returning her smile. “I'm just trying to get my bearings.”

She nodded. “This place is crazy, right?! We just got in a few weeks ago from New Mexico and wow, culture shock,” the girl said rapidly, then seem to reel herself in. “I'm Darcy Lewis, by the way.”

“It's nice to meet you, Miss Lewis,” he replied, comforted by her open tone and enthusiasm. “I'm Steve Rogers.”

That made her blink, then squint, and then her mouth dropped open. “Ho-lee shizzballs, you are!” she exclaimed, startling him with her zeal. “Coulson briefed us on you! Said they’re gonna have you work with Thor on their new project. This is awesome. Captain America!”

She was grinning and looking him up and down, bouncing on her toes. Then something she said gave him pause. “I haven't been told specific about my next mission….”

“Oh, you better come with me,” Darcy replied, reaching up and grasping his arm. Her brows rose and she muttered, “Hello, muscles…C’mon, Thor’s down in Jane’s lab. Love the shirt by the way.”

His shirt? He couldn't understand what she found appealing about it. It was the white SSR T-shirt he'd been wearing the first time he woke up in that fake hospital room. In fact, he was wearing a similar pair of trousers and the same boots as well, unsure what would be appropriate attire. If he’d had his uniform, he certainly would have worn that, but one hadn’t been provided.

Fury wore a lot of leather. Random agents seemed to wear black suits while the scientists wore an array of outfits under their white lab coats. Darcy was wearing jeans, brown boots and a shirt with striped sleeves under a black T-shirt with the cartoon monkey on the front, surrounded by the words _Imma come at you like a spider monkey!_

Standards of dress seemed to have changed greatly during the course of the past 70 years.

Darcy towed him through the innumerable halls with clear purpose, finally pushing her way through a set of doors and announcing, “Look who I found wandering the labitrail!”

The room’s three occupants, two men and a woman, turned to acknowledge Darcy's greeting, none seeming surprised by her volume. “Darcy, leave the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent alone,” the older man said in a fondly exasperated tone.

“Ha ha, Erik,” she replied, pulling Steve closer. He slowed his steps, eyeing the massive device in the room. If 21st century technology was intimidating in the form of the tiny computer in his room, what must this behemoth of a machine do? Unaware of his internal musings, Darcy continued, “Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, Thor...meet Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America.”

That announcement caused Foster and Selvig to gape at him and Steve gave them a small wave. “Hello.”

Striding forward with none of the other’s hesitation, Thor beamed down at Steve (he was _big_ ) and reached out to grasp his forearm in a warriors handshake. “We are to be Shield brothers!” he declared, then clapped Steve companionably on the shoulder. “Colonel Fury tells me you are a lauded warrior of your people.”

Steve felt his face warm slightly at the praise and he said, “I didn't do anything anyone else wouldn't have done, had they been in my position.”

“Aw, he’s humble,” Darcy cooed and Steve just knew he was blushing again.

Selvig, the older man, reached over and detached Darcy from Steve's arm, chiding, “Stop harassing the man. Captain Rogers, it's a pleasure.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied politely.

Jane was next to catch Steve's hand, grinning and saying, “My dad would've loved to meet you! He used a read me Captain America comic books when I was young.”

Unable to help himself, Steve chuckled. "Those old things survived!”

She shrugged. “There are collectors who have originals from the 40s, but we read the current series.”

 _Current? They kept printing the books after the war?_ For the moment, Steve couldn't wrap his brain around that, forcing the information to a corner of his mind where he was storing all the **Must Ask Later** questions. “Oh,” he simply replied, more than a little overwhelmed.

“Director Fury said you'd taken to one of the bunkers in the old subbasement,” Selvig asked curiously as he stepped back towards the odd machine.

Steve watched him check the dials and shrugged. “Couldn't stay down there forever. I'm told I might be able to help with…something.”

“Indeed,” Thor agreed. “We are to be part of a special response team.” He paused, eyes darting to Jane, who nodded. Clearly, the term was new to him, but he used it appropriately. “Now my friend, let us feast and share tales of past battles.”

“I could eat,” Darcy piped up and Jane nodded.

“There is an all-night diner a few blocks away,” she smiled, turning to Thor. “The one with the pancakes.”

“It’ll be fun,” Darcy urged Steve impishly. “We get to use the expense account when we go out with Thor!”

Though he wasn't sure if he was allowed to leave the building, Steve decided that, since no one had ordered him not to, it would be all right. “I haven't had pancakes since… Well, it's been a while,” he said with a grin, which caused Thor to thump on the shoulder again.

Unlike Steve's earlier foray into the city, they left the building with little fanfare. “Just ignore the guard and walk like you own the place,” Darcy advised and she proved to know how S.H.I.E.L.D. worked, as the agent sitting at the guard desk barely grunted at them.

Once on the street, Steve commented, “That doesn't speak well for base security.”

“No,” Jane agreed, “but they're more focused on super villains, who tend to be really flashy.”

“Super villains and Tony Stark,” Darcy said with a laugh. “He's not happy that Fury hasn't let him meet you. I'm expecting him to hack the building any day now.”

“Stark?” Steve asked, stopping to peer down at her. “Any relation to Howard Stark?”

“His son,” Selvig replied with a slightly disapproving shake of his head.

“Who is also Iron Man,” Darcy added, then tilted her head to the side. “Is Iron Man going to be working on the Avenger Initiative? Cuz I've seen him around, but mostly he seems to be focused on annoying Fury and Coulson…who I'm starting to warm up to. I heard him threaten Stark with a taser yesterday. It was pretty funny.”

Steve had no idea what Iron Man was and was about to ask when Jane said, “Stark's officially a consultant, but who knows. He’s…eccentric and used to getting his own way.”

Eccentric was one of the many words Steve had heard used to describe Howard. “What is Iron Man?”

“Stark built an armored, weaponized suit and calls himself Iron Man when he wears it,” Selvig informed him, stepping towards the lit entry of an all-night diner.

As they followed him into the restaurant, Darcy swatted at Selvig. “C’mon, Stark’s done some awesome stuff as Iron Man. Like that showdown at the Expo with the Hammer-bots and that crazy Russian dude.”

“Plus,” Jane said in a quieter tone as they slid into a large corner booth (it was still a bit of a squeeze. Darcy and Jane were small, but the same could not be said for the three men.), “I've heard some of the other scientists at S.H.I.E.L.D. saying that he created a new element!”

That was impressive. Steve hadn't excelled in high school science class, but he knew creating an element was not something that happened every day. At least, it wasn’t back in his day. Agent Hill had told him he could peruse history on his computer, but something a little less high-tech would suit him better. “Do libraries still have microfilm or is everything computerized?”

“Some still archive old papers on microfilm,” Selvig replied. “But honestly, computers are far more convenient.”

“Agent Hill gave me one,” Steve sighed. “It just turns blue and stops working.”

“The dreaded blue screen of death,” Darcy said, wrinkling her nose and distaste as Jane nodded her commiseration.

The fact that they weren’t unfamiliar with the problem made him feel less of a fool. It wasn’t just him that the computers hated.

A bored looking waitress came by, filling their mugs with strong smelling coffee and, unable to miss Thor’s presence, said, “You want five orders of pancakes again?”

“Yes,” Thor replied happily. “With much fried pork and a chocolate milkshake.”

“Side of bacon,” she noted. “Next?”

“Can I get the vegetarian platter, please,” Jane said, “with a fruit salad and a coconut cream milkshake.”

Erik was next, closing his menu. “An oatmeal breakfast, eggs over easy with sourdough toast.”

“Waffle sandwich,” Darcy said, “with fried egg, sausage, bacon, cheddar cheese and hash browns and it. Oh, and an espresso shake.”

Frankly, Steve had never heard of such a thing, but it looked amazing on the menu. Turning to the waitress, he said, “May I have the same, please. But with a vanilla shake, thank you.”

“Sure thing, hon,” the woman replied, then hurried off to the kitchen.

“You could come by the lab when we run tutorials to help Thor get to know basic tech,” Darcy offered, picking up the conversation where they left off before the waitress’s arrival.

Thor nodded agreeably, but Steve was puzzled. Everyone seemed to act like technology was a modern universal language. Why wouldn't Thor already be versed in it? Had he missed several decades somehow? Searching his memory for the term he'd heard Agent Hill use, Steve asked Thor, “How'd you manage to miss the technological revolution?”

This earned him a round of stares and Jane said, “They really haven't told you anything, have they?”

Somehow, Steve knew his life was about to get exponentially stranger…which, all things considered, was saying a lot.

* * *

It had taken days and the sudden appearance of Sif and The Warriors Three to fully convince Darcy that Thor was actually _Thor_ , so she thought Steve took the news pretty well. There was no denial, no suggestions that he thought they were buckets of crazy or any of the expected reactions.

He simply listened, thought it over for a moment, then kind of let out a huff of breath. “Huh,” he said, then looked at his coffee way too intently.

Darcy really hoped they hadn't broken him. That would be a really bad way to start at S.H.I.E.L.D., making a recently defrosted national symbol go catatonic. But Fury couldn’t blame them. If they weren’t supposed to play with Steve, it should have been part of the welcome briefing. Like, _Please do not remove radioactive materials from the premises. The same goes for classified weapons and gorgeous, possibly PTSD-ing supersoldiers from the 40’s._

But no one had said that last part!

Then Steve snorted and grinned. “Bucky always said there had to be life up there,” he mused, pointing skyward. “How'd you end up here? Are there lots of Asgard-ians wandering around Earth?”

The waitress arrived with their food, far prompter than when Darcy came in alone. She figured that had something to do with the two huge, hot, blonde men at the table.

Steve seemed adorably intrigued by his sandwich and they all dug in as Thor began to tell Steve all about being cast down from Asgard, meeting them and everything that it led to the present.

The big guy told a good story. He always claimed that was more Fandral’s thing, but that never stopped him from spinning a yarn. Though, in retelling their meeting, he did try to gloss over the parts where Jane hit him with the car and his acquaintance with Sparky, Darcy’s taser. 

Two hours later, stuffed full of awesomely greasy diner food, they made their way back to HQ. Steve seemed to be living there, though Fury had put the rest of them up in off-site accommodations until they found their own digs.

Sure, she never would've considered Erik as a possible roommate before, but when the choice was him or potentially overhearing Jane and Thor…well, her decision had been obvious. Aside from the slight stodginess, Erik wasn't too bad. He was quiet, clean and respected her space, which was way more than she could say for some of the people she shared dorms with over the years.

Lucy, who spent most of her waking hours naked, had been the least offensive of Darcy's past roommates.

As they stepped into the lobby of HQ, Darcy found herself shocked (not) to see Coulson standing there, arms crossed. It was just after 3 AM and he wasn't even wrinkled. Maybe that was his super power. “Don't you ever go home?” she asked, unable to help herself.

Casting a vaguely annoyed glance her way, the man replied. “That's where I was until someone realized they'd lost Captain Rogers.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, sounding sheepish and Darcy patted his arm consolingly. “No one said I wasn't allowed to leave.”

“We required food,” Thor said, giving Coulson the look he got when he was deciding whether or not to mess with the man. “I believe I've heard some of your people refer to team bonding?”

Aw, he'd only used words. Darcy got a kick out of seeing how uncomfortable the suits got when Thor hugged them. Everyone seemed to think it was just a cultural thing and played nice, but she knew better. The big guy like screwing with their heads in his own harmless way.

“That's fine,” Coulson said with a sigh, and then looked back at Steve. “Of course you can leave, we just feel that, until you acclimate to the time, it would probably be better to tell someone before you go out.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied, causing Darcy to nudge him.

Leaning in close, she whispered, “Don’t give in so easily. He'll start thinking he can boss us around!”

Steve gave her an embarrassed smile as Coulson heaved another sigh. “Perhaps we can discuss this later,” the agent suggested, clearly insinuating it was time for them to go.

It was kinda late.

“Night, Steve. See you later,” Darcy said brightly, giving his arm a final squeeze before stepping away to watch him exchange polite farewells with Jane and Erik. Thor of course hugged him, in that macho, back thumping way that seemed to be common amongst males of all kinds.

As they exited, leaving a sad looking Steve to make his way back into S.H.I.E.L.D., Darcy felt her heart go out to him. Turning to Erik, she said, “Do you think….”

“No, you can't keep him,” Erik said with a chuckle. “He's not a lost puppy. He’s Captain America.”

“He certainly is!” She murmured, causing Jane to laugh and Thor and Erik to roll their eyes in male solitude.

Who would've thought taking the job as research assistant to an astrophysicist would've turned out to be this much fun!

* * *

“So, word is Capt. America ventured out into the city again last night. But this time Fury didn’t mobilize everyone to secure him.”

Seated at the table in the break room, Natasha didn't even twitch in surprise. Snagging a cup of coffee for himself, Clint decided that, tomorrow, he’d lay in wait up in the dropped ceiling. While sneaking up on Natasha was not something anyone with a sense of self-preservation would normally do, it had sort of become their thing. In the months they'd known each other, Natasha had been able to spook him twice, while he'd only been successful once.

No way in hell was he gonna let that stand.

As he settled himself into one of the chairs, she replied, “So I heard. Thor and his little friends were involved.”

Clint snorted. "Well, that would explain why Phil looks like he wants to beat his head against the wall."

Raising a perfectly sculpted brow, Natasha said, “That’s nothing. While you've been off on your little side mission, Stark found out about Rogers and keeps popping up to harass Fury and, by extension, Phil.”

“Stark’s kinda funny,” Clint allowed, watching as she gave him a baleful look. “You really don't want him in on the Initiative, do you?”

“However did you come to that conclusion?” She said dryly and he simply stared at her. After about 10 min. of silence, she continued, “It’s not that I don’t like him. He's very charming, but he’s unstable, unreliable. A risk to himself and others.”

“So the God of Thunder and a 25-year-old born in 1919 are what you consider stable? Not to mention Banner, who’s supposed to be arriving today.”

“Touché,” she drawled, them smirked. “But don't think you're fooling anyone. You're only playing cheerleader for Stark because he built you a new bow…which I think you have an unhealthy relationship with.”

“Don't judge our love,” he retorted with a grin. She rolled her eyes, but he caught the corners of her mouth tipping up into a smile (though she tried to hide it behind the rim of her mug).

That was when two S.H.I.E.L.D agents wandered in, clearly of the desk jockey variety. They took one look at Clint and Natasha and fled without a word.

Clint was fairly sure it was Natasha they were afraid of, not him, but he wasn’t going to ask. 

He was looking forward to meeting the rest of their team, seeing them all in action together. From the sound of things, they’d have some pretty good company on the team.

If nothing else, it would be entertaining.

* * *

“ _Access denied!?_ Yeah, like that’s gonna work. Really, Fury, I thought better of you.”

Tapping rapidly at his SIphone, Tony mumbled to himself, questioning the intelligence of anyone who thought themselves capable of keeping him out of the computer. Seriously, Tony had never met a system he couldn't hack.

It was almost depressing how easily he penetrated the firewalls of the secret government facility using nothing more than his (admittedly disgustingly sophisticated) phone. Finding the file Fury had opened on Rogers, he scanned the pages. The file was dense, filled with scans of his original CV from the 40s and copies of every test run on Rogers since they defrosted him.

There had been a lot of tests.

The fact that they had used Stark Industries resources to extract Steve Rogers from the ice and tried to keep that information from Tony…well, that only served to annoy him more. Add to that the fact that Fury was now refusing to let him even meet Rogers, citing the man's need acclimate before _inflicting_ (yes, Ol’One Eye had used that term) Tony upon him and you had the recipe for seriously pissed off billionaire.

If Tony hadn't already been adamant about meeting Rogers, Fury’s reluctance would've made the meeting a must. As it was, the director’s disapproval only further encouraged Tony's quest.

It was no secret that Tony's relationship with his father had been strained. Hell, Tony had spent much of his life thinking Howard had out right disliked him and it was only recently that he had begun trying to recall good memories to go with the bad. Though distant, his memories had been kinder to Maria Stark. Sure, she was a bit fond of drink and, in retrospect, possibly suffering from some undiagnosed form of depression, but he always hung on too few positive memories.

Dancing around her dressing room with her before she left for party.

Feeding ducks in central Park.

The few times when Tony could recall his father not seeming annoyed by his presence were all instances when he was teaching him something, sharing his knowledge and experience. When Tony was boy, Howard had often told him stories of World War II, of the campaign against Hydra and of his friend, Captain America. Only Howard had simply called him Steve, had known the man behind the mask and share those memories with his only son.

In essence, Tony had grown up wishing he could have met the man his father so clearly admired. Like most boys, he'd read the Cap comics, had the action figures and even a tiny replica shield, but his father’s stories they were what made the national icon seem real, tangible even beyond death.

Howard had led expeditions for years, searching the ice, intent on bringing his friend’s remains home to rest. Even after his father's death, Tony kept that program running, out of respect for Rogers and his sacrifice.

Though it seemed Captain America had somehow survived 70 years on ice, Tony still believed what the soldier had done amounted to sacrificing his life. Tony had been reborn in a cave in Afghanistan, but at least he only lost three months. The world around him remained the same, well he had changed. Rogers had woken up, the same man, but in a completely different world. 1945 to 2012…he might as well have been transported to an alien world.

But really, Fury had already screwed the pooch with his little “pretend it’s still the 40’s” plan, so what did he think Tony was going to do? He wasn't an idiot. Sure, sometimes his judgment was a little questionable, but he wasn't about to go dragging Captain America off to a strip club or a Marilyn Manson concert.

He wanted to meet the man, not traumatize him.

When Tony clicked on the file he assumed would tell him Rogers location, Tony couldn't hold in a bark of laughter. Instead of a room assignment or safe house address, there was one lone line of text. **GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY COMPUTER, STARK!**

Annoying, but less idiotic than he'd been anticipating, given the ease with which he'd initially entered the system.

Changing tactics, Tony moved on, scanning the security feeds from random sections of the facility, hoping he'd spot Rogers. He knew what the man looked like from the photos in his father's office.

_Boring agents doing boring things._

_Boring agents doing boring things._

_Boring agents doing boring things._

_Lab…Biological research. Next._

_Lab…Idiot designing some kind of massive helicopter that would never work based on the plans on the wall. He wondered if Fury found his idiots under the same rock the less competent members of Stark Industries escaped from._

_Shooting range…Oh look, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s very own Robin Hood was practicing with the bow Tony had made him. The first time they'd met, Tony mocked Clint's bow, which immediately drew a retort about the recently released Iron Man porn spoof. That was when Tony knew they'd get along just fine._

_Office._

_Office._

_Lab…Oh, hi there, Bruce. Tony hadn’t known, Dr. Jekyll had arrived, but there he was setting up his lab. He was alone, which seemed to be his preference and Tony was please note he didn't look even the tiniest bit green…but then S.H.I.E.L.D.’s surveillance cameras were… Okay, not bad, but he could do better._

_Office._

_Lab._

_Gym…Natasha was destroying a small pack of men, all much larger than herself. She was ruthlessly efficient and Tony grinned, as it was incredibly hot when you weren't the one she was mad at._

_Office…Fury was staring someone down via videoconference. He'd probably win. The man was scary and he knew way too much about everything._

_Medical research._

_Infirmary._

_Empty quarters._

_Empty quarters…._

When the same depressingly utilitarian room popped up, Tony almost continue to scroll on without noting small differences. Books, a computer, a jacket hanging by the door and, most importantly, a man sitting on the bed. He was big and blonde, bent over a book intently, not really looking towards the camera, that there was no way Tony couldn't recognize him.

Steve Rogers, American hero, was sitting cross-legged on a tiny twin bed in a pathetically cookie-cutter room.

Nope. No, no, no. It wasn't right.

Scrolling back a few feeds, Tony saw that Fury was still giving some poor schmuck the hairy eyeball and thus wouldn't be by to harass Tony anytime soon (Okay, so he'd been the one to show up at S.H.I.E.L.D. without an appointment, only to be stuffed into the little waiting room until the director was free, but that was not the point!).

With a grin, Tony dropped his phone into his pocket and rose, strolling out of the room toward the nearest bank of elevators that would take him to the seventh floor. He had an all access pass (Maybe it hadn't been all access when Coulson had handed it over, but it was now), so, moments later, he was entering a long, quiet hall, flanked by a dozen doors.

Only one was open.

Tony stepped forward, peering around the door frame into the room. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, bouncing off neatly parted blond hair as Steve Rogers bowed his head over a book. Whatever he was reading seemed to have his full attention, his face screwed up into an amusing expression of earnest concentration.

Mustering his reserve of cool, Tony managed to keep from bouncing on his toes and squealing like a tween at a preview of the last Twilight movie.

“Hi,” he said, wrapping sharply on the door frame which caused Rogers to look up, startled. “Just thought I'd pop in, say hello.”

Wide blue eyes met his and Rogers replied, “That’s very nice of you." He set down his book and rose to his feet in a smooth motion. Holding out a big hand, the young man said, “Steve Rogers.”

It was cute that he thought he needed to introduce himself. Taking his hand, Tony replied, “Tony Stark.”

There was a glimmer of recognition in Rogers’s eyes as he nodded. “You're Iron Man, right?”

 _Oh shit, Capt. America knew who he was!_ Reigning in his inner fanboy, Tony grinned and said, “I am.” Then he paused and raised a curious brow. "I wouldn't have thought Fury considered that fact need to know. He usually prefers to pretend I don't exist.”

Rogers grimaced, clearly telegraphing his discomfort. "Ah, well, no. Erik, Jane and Darcy did…and Thor showed me how to use the Google to look you up.”

 _The Google._ That was almost right and pretty impressive, especially when you consider the fact that Thor, an Asgardian with limited experience in dealing with modern Earth technology, was apparently his tutor. “Thor taught you how to Google?”

Nodding, Steve gave the computer wary glance as he admitted, “It’s pretty amazing how much things have changed. All that information in that tiny little box….”

Tony didn't have the heart to tell him that wasn't how computers and the Internet worked, but he did have a question. “So, you looked up Iron Man…What did you think?”

“I've never seen anything like your armor,” Steve said, waving him to the desk chair as he settled himself on the edge of the bed. “But I actually Googled you. Did you know I knew your father?”

 _Like there was any chance Howard hadn't mentioned… Oh my God, he's serious._ “Of course dad told me about you!” Tony exclaimed incredulously. “He told anyone who would listen.”

Unbelievably, Rogers actually blushed. “Howard…they told me he passed the number of years ago. I'm sorry for your loss. He was a great man.”

A familiar bitterness bubbled up from Tony's belly, a practiced defense for whenever anyone mentioned his old man. Years of resentment and anger were not conquered in a few months. “He was…dad,” he finally replied. Dumping his issues on Rogers would be a bit unfair considering the man had plenty of his own.

_Ha! And Pepper said he had the emotional capacity of a Palawan Tree Shrew when it came to taking other people’s feelings and fragility into consideration!_

Rogers gave him a look that said he was fully aware that Tony was neatly sidestepping a topic he didn't want to discuss but was far too polite to say anything. Instead, the younger/older man (That was a trip. Rogers was born a few years after Tony's dad, but he looked like a well groomed college kid) simply said, “Has Director Fury told you anything about the Avenger Initiative? Jane and Erik's knowledge seem to be secondhand and Thor… Well, he's very enthusiastic about things, isn't he?”

That was one way to put it.

“At the moment, I'm a consultant, sort of freelance. Usually that's more my style, but since Fury doesn't want me on the team… Never mind. Let's just go with the notion that I'm going to be involved. I also fix whatever messes Fury's engineering minions make and design what we actually need on my own. His eyeball is going to pop out of his skull when he sees the specs for the Hellicarrier,” Tony said with what he knew was a self-satisfied grin. Really, the Hellicarrier was awesome. Rogers was still regarding him with that polite, mildly confused look, so Tony cleared his throat. “Anyhow, the Initiative. Basically, Fury seems to be gathering a team of specialists composed of superhumans and other heroes. You've met Thor, God of Thunder, and me, Iron Man. I think Natasha, code name Black Widow, might be joining us. She's normal human, like me, but some kind of badass ninja spy. Don't get on her bad side.”

“Then there's Bruce. Back in the 70s, the military decided to reopen Project Rebirth, sans dad or any of the original team. They had scrapped it not too long after you were lost, deciding they were never going to re-create the serum without Erskine. Dad never even got to finish the repairs on his machine. With better technology, they figured it would be easy to make a whole army of…you. They were wrong.”

“Banner’s dad experimented on himself with a compound designed to accelerate healing, based on the samples taken from you in the 40’s. Years later, Bruce's own research exposed to a huge burst of radiation. Between the inherited effects of the serum and exposure to Gamma Radiation, Bruce…developed a sort of dual personality. Whenever his adrenaline spikes, he goes all giant, super strong, green rage monster. Hell, he’d be pretty unstoppable if the transformation didn’t make him dumber than your average dolphin.”

He spoke rapidly and without pause, trying to condense Bruce's situation into a brief summary. Steve listened intently, but Tony could tell he hadn't really understood some of what he said, though he did look more than slightly unnerved. “He's not evil, he's just different, right?” the blonde said slowly.

Tony winced. Maybe he hadn't explained things as well as he thought. Red Skull was the only other person Steve knew who’d been exposed to anything like the serum that it changed him and he was a megalomaniacal lunatic bent on world domination. “No, Bruce isn’t evil. He just has some anger management issues.”

Nodding slowly, Steve replied “Okay. We all have our faults, I guess.”

Some people would probably disagree with him, but Tony knew and embraced his own minor flaws. Again he glanced around the room, noticing an open compass sitting on the bedside table. He recognized the picture held within as Peggy Carter, a dear friend of his father's. Tony had known her from the time he was small child until her death in the mid-1980’s.

She had loved Steve Rogers and had even more stories about him than his dad. Every year, Peggy came over on July 4 and it wasn't until he was older that Tony learned why. That day was Steve's birthday and she and Howard would get together and remember him fondly, sometimes sharing their memories with Tony.

When he heard of her death, Tony wasn't ashamed to admit he'd cried.

Not that he had to admit to anything, as no one would ever ask.

Tony opened his mouth to ask what Steve thought of the 21st-century, but was preempted.

“Can you not follow any instructions? How could you possibly interpret ‘Stay here until Director Fury calls for you’ to mean wander off and visit Captain Rogers?”

Barely perturbed by being caught, Tony replied, “Um, you've met me, right?"

Because really, anyone who had wouldn't question why he disregarded the directive.

Heaving a sigh, Coulson said, “Fair point. Director Fury would like to see the both of you.”

“Wonderful,” Tony clipped, climbed to his feet as Rogers hopped up.

“I don't have a uniform,” the younger man said, sounding troubled as he looked down at himself. Tony thought it was entirely unfair that Rogers made sweats and T-shirt look runway ready.

“You can wear whatever's comfortable,” Coulson said as he unsubtly attempted to herd Tony out of the room.

Allowing himself to be propelled towards the hall, Tony reassured Steve, “I'm fairly certain dress codes will not be enforced. Could you imagine trying to get Thor to wear a suit?”

At least that got a grin from the man before Coulson closed the door.

* * *

Carefully considering the group of _interesting_ people he'd selected to form a one-of-a-kind first response unit, Nick Fury had to wonder if maybe he had (as was suggested by more than one person) taken a few too many blows to the head.

Cuz, on paper, this group of Type A, crazy, deadly people and rule breakers, were not ideal for any team situation.

Ever.

But Fury had a hunch that they might be good together… When they weren't busy giving him ulcers.

Coulson had preemptively begun ordering TUMS by the crate.

As he monitored the conference room on CCTV, Nick noted how each man (or woman) reacted upon entering.

Natasha arrived first, responding to his summons with the expected professionalism of an agent. She claimed a chair that put her back toward a solid wall. Not even a minute after her, Barton appeared. In moments, he checked the room sightlines, then claimed chair beside Natasha.

Trust the two of them to seek out the seats that offer them the best defensive positions while minimizing the chance that anyone could sneak up on them…not like that was likely to happen as they both took the concept of remaining alert to scary new levels.

Seriously, Barton slept with his eyes open. Even Nick found that a little freaky.

Thor was next to enter, striding into the room like he owned it. In contrast to the black of S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms, the God of Thunder wore blue jeans and a bright red T-shirt. Clearly, his friends had convinced him that his Asgardian armor was just a tad too conspicuous to wear every day…though Fury seriously doubted most New Yorkers would give him a second thought.

Folks in this city were used to crazy shit.

The large blond greeted Clinton and Natasha jubilantly, then claimed the center chair in front of the window. “Good day, friends,” he said, already busying himself with the coffee urn sitting at the center of the table. Pouring himself a cup, into which he dumped enough sugar to make Nick’s teeth ache, he asked, “Would either of you care for some?”

As they sorted out the coffee (black for Clint, a dash of cream for Natasha), the doors opened again.

Stark and Rogers entered together.

Of course they did.

He should've just let Coulson taser Stark…though knowing that little bastard, a taser would just give his arc reactor some kind of power boost.

“Any idea what Herr Commandant has planned for us?” Stark quipped, dropping gracefully into the first seat he encountered.

Natasha sighed, Barton smirked into his coffee and Thor asked, “Who is Herr Commandant?”

“He's being sarcastic,” Natasha drawled, then turned to Stark. “Drink some coffee and behave.”

Stark snorted. “I'll have a cup, but don't think it's because you told me to.”

Rogers was still standing by the door, posture somewhere between attention and relaxed, waiting for an order. Praise be to military training. The man had even tried to dress for the meeting, in khakis and a blue oxford shirt.

“Steve… Steve, you don't need to wait there. Sit, say hello to…Is it Natasha or Natalie today?”

Throwing Stark a quelling look, Natasha gave Cap a small smile. “Natasha Romanoff,” she said, inclining her head slightly and holding out her hand. “A pleasure.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma'am,” Rogers replied, stepping forward and leaning over to clasp her extended palm.

“Clint Barton,” the sniper said next, grasping Steve's hand. “It's an honor.”

The complement clearly made Rogers a bit uncomfortable, but he was saved when the door opened once again and Colson ushered Dr. Banner in. The scientist looked rumpled and distracted, but seemed reassuringly calm.

Since Rogers was on his feet (and looking to deflect Clint's complement) he stepped up to play greeter. “Hello,” he said, warm and surprisingly nonthreatening for man his size. “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

His hand hung in the air as Banner blinked slowly. “Really? Could I get a blood sample?”

This made Steve blink and Tony said, “Normally, it's considered polite to say hello and introduce yourself before requesting bodily fluids, Bruce.”

Okay, time to get in there before someone (Stark) said something to bring out the less socialized side of Banner's personality.

Striding into the room and taking his spot at the head of the table, Nick said, “Now that you've had the chance to say hello, time to get down to business.”

As he outlined the threats facing humanity, why he’d chosen each of them and the fact that they were (for better or worse) now a team, he took another moment to consider each of the assembled individuals.

Natasha and Barton, having heard all of this before, tried not to look bored. Thor seemed torn between nodding his agreement and fidgeting, which was a little worrying. They did not need a God with ADHD running around. Banner simply looked distracted and kept glancing around the room as though expecting to be ambushed. Stark was ignoring him in favor of playing with his phone. Bastard. Rogers, bless him, was listening intently and actually taking notes.

“Now, for the time being,” he continued, knowing it would be best to wrap things up soon before their attention spans wandered any further. He was really going to have to do something soon to put the fear of _Fury_ back into them. “I want you to get to know each other's strengths and weaknesses. You need to be able to function as a unit when Dr. Doom or giant killer bunnies attack. Agent Coulson will help you find on-site quarters, Stark, and….”

“Hold on there,” Stark interrupted, looking away from his phone for the first time, proving he was at least half listening. “What do you mean on-site quarters?!”

“Military units are housed together,” Nick said, baring his teeth in a display no one would call a smile. “It fosters team cohesion. You're the one who wanted in on this, Stark.”

The billionaire looked like he found every word that Nick was saying to be insane. “You're serious? I saw the closet you have Steve in. It's depressing.”

“I wish to reside with Jane,” Thor rumbled, joining Stark in his attempt to stare Nick down.

Not going to happen.

“My room is fine,” Rogers said, trying to diffuse the sudden tension in the room.

“I don't care as long as it's near a lab.” Bruce finally stirred from his contemplation of something the rest of them couldn't see to add his two cents.

Barton merely shrugged and Natasha pursed her lips before saying, “I suppose the room could be worse.”

“How?” Stark shot back at her.

“People, focus,” Nick grumbled, then turned back to Stark (the instigator), “Look, we have plans to build an off-site facility from which your team, code-named The Avengers, will work out of. Unfortunately, there are certain financial and logistical issues that have prevented us from breaking ground.”

Stark narrowed his eyes. Fury had to admit that the man was not stupid. Hell, he was brilliant, even if he was a giant pain in the ass. “That's why I’m here, right?...Of course it is. Well, no fear, I have a solution. Stark Mansion.”

“What?” Nick asked, surprised that the man had a response that ready. Honestly, he just expected him to throw money at the problem, not a house.

Tapping at his damn cell phone again, Stark continued, “It’s a three story building on Fifth Avenue that dad had built back in the 30’s.” Suddenly, the large screen on the wall flared to life, displaying the image of a large mansion, surrounded by a tall concrete wall. It was set back from the street and looked to have a lawn and a wrought iron gate. “There's a massive basement and two subbasement levels, as well as underground access to the East River. The property encompasses an entire city block, so there'd be plenty of space.”

Nick eyed photo and said, “Any reason for those odd features?”

The two subbasements and river access were highly unusual.

Stark shrugged. “Just dad being himself.”

Howard always was an odd duck.

“All right,” Nick said, pointing at the top floor. “You got a problem with an overhaul? Maybe housing a helicopter or mini-jet up there?”

Stark grinned. “I actually have something in mind with regards to a jet.”

_Well, shit._

* * *

If someone had told her yesterday that she'd be moving into Tony Stark’s Fifth Avenue mansion, Natasha would've laughed then punched that someone in the throat. The very idea was just…no.

When Stark had made the offer, she'd expected Director Fury to dismiss the idea as absurd, but for some reason he didn't. For a few minutes, she'd assumed Fury was messing with Stark's head, then she wondered if he was messing with all of them. Then, she resigned herself to the fact that this was actually happening.

Rogers, Banner and Clint didn't voice any preference about their living arrangements, though Rogers had asked if they wouldn't be inconveniencing Tony.

The billionaire had shaken his head. “Not at all. No one's lived there in nearly 20 years. Why not put the old place to use?”

“I do not wish to live apart from my Jane again,” Thor persisted from his seat, growing more serious as the conversation continued.

Stark grinned. “She can come too.”

He even wound up offering a place to Jane’s research partner and assistant. The young woman, Darcy, had leapt at the chance, while Selvig had snorted and replied, “Not even if you paid me.”

Natasha wished she could refuse so easily, but unlike Selvig, she wasn't being given a choice.

After packing her things, she found herself sitting in an agency car with Clint as they drove toward the mansion. The marksman had only a duffel bag and a half-dozen bow and arrow sets, while she had a few bags of her own. He had raised a brow at her limited luggage, to which she replied, “I happen to have an apartment in the city, you know. Not all of us spend our lives moving from barracks to barracks.”

“Hey, this assignment has the potential to be long-term,” he laughed, unable to dispute her assessment of his prior living arrangements.

“If it works out,” she replied with a sigh. “If we can get Banner to control the Hulk, if Stark behaves, if Rogers can adjust to the 21st century. If, if, if….”

Clint stretched an arm across the seat and dared to poker. “You gotta look on the bright side. It could be fun.”

She chuckled. “That depends on your definition of fun.”

Mere minutes later, their car pulled to stop at the entrance of the huge, stone wall flanked gate. In a testament to someone's (Coulson’s) organizational skills, they arrived at nearly the same instant as several other cars. The gates opened before the lead vehicle, which Natasha knew was operated by Happy Hogan, Stark's chauffeur, and the procession entered the grounds.

As they drove along the circular drive, the enormous edifice seemed to loom over them. It was a handsome old building, solid and fronted by large, beautiful granite walkways and an open air portico. She was surprised not to see a bubbling fountain, then realized the stone sculpture on the raised walk was just that, but simply not in use.

She could admit (at least to herself) that, when water suddenly began to bubble forth from the stone, she was a little surprised. A young man darted out from behind the fountain, crossing the walkway to meet up with two others emerging from the mansion.

An older woman in a formal maid's uniform waived the young man to stand beside an equally young woman. After moment, Natasha realized they were dressed in school uniforms, which puzzled her slightly.

Exchanging a look with Clint, she climbed out of the car as Stark practically bounced out of his own.

“Hello, Sarah,” he called out, crossing toward the older woman with a genuine smile.

“Tony,” she replied warmly, reaching out and giving him a squeeze. “What are they feeding you out in California? You're far too thin!”

This familiar interaction surprised Natasha, but Stark just laughed and turned his eyes to the kids. “There's no way these two are Liz and Thomas. They’re too grown-up!”

The kids grinned. “Good afternoon, Mr. Stark,” they chorused politely causing Stark to wave his hand.

“Tony’s fine,” he said, then shook his head again. “How old are you two now? 15?”

“18,” the girl, Liz, said. “We’re seniors at Claremont.”

“Now I really feel old,” Stark replied, then looked back to Sarah. “Did someone come by with…?”

Before he finished the sentence, Pepper Potts appeared from within the house. Though she'd decided she didn't enjoy being CEO of Stark Industries, she reclaimed her position as Stark’s executive assistant. Their relationship didn't last long, but it'd ended amicably and they quickly found their old rhythm, with Stark being Stark and Pepper keeping him more or less in line.

Frankly, Natasha wondered if the woman wasn't something of a masochist, voluntarily spending as much time as she did with Stark. Then again, he did kind of grow on you, like a fungus.

A very charming fungus.

“Agent Hill and I have taken care of the confidentiality paperwork housing the team here requires,” Potts said, looking out over the group of them clustered by the cars.

While Sarah directed the twins and the drivers to spirit everyone's luggage into the house, Pepper stepped forward. “Everyone,” Stark said, addressing the crowd of them, “this is Pepper, my right-hand woman. She keeps my schedule, keeps me from making a scene whenever possible and basically takes care of all those little details that make life livable.”

Having already met Pepper, Natasha smiled and gave her a warm nod.

“Lovely to see you again, Natasha,” Pepper said before moving down the line. Clint was polite, Darcy complemented her Loubitans and Jane apologized for Thor's enthusiasm (his handshake rocked Potts on her sky-high heels). Bruce cracked a smile and Coulson, who'd escorted Bruce over, greeted her as an old acquaintance.

“Ms. Potts, still running the show I see,” he joked lightly as they shook hands.

She smiled. “Someone has to, as you so obviously know.”

Somehow, poor Phil had wound up as Fury’s go to guy for recalcitrant hero wrangling. Natasha did not envy him.

Finally, Pepper stepped over to Rogers, who shifted the flat leather case that held the shield onto his back. He hadn't let go of the thing since Fury returned it to him. Thor had his hammer; Clint had his bow; Stark his armor; Steve his shield… Boys and their toys.

From her past relationship Potts, Natasha knew the redhead was not easily impressed, but then, Captain America wasn’t your average man.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Rogers said as Pepper peered up at him.

“The pleasures mine, Captain,” Pepper replied with a broad smile. “If there's anything you need, feel free to ask.”

Natasha had already come to the conclusion that Rogers had no idea how to deal with being attractive to…well, everyone. She thought his obliviousness had to be some kind of self-defense technique.

“That's very kind of you, thank you,” he replied earnestly, flashing Pepper a beaming smile. “And please, it's just Steve.”

That was when Stark intervened. “Let's give Cap his hand back now, Pepper, and show everyone inside,” he said and Natasha hid her smirk, wondering who he was getting territorial over, Pepper or Rogers.

As they strode towards the building, Rogers looked up and said, “You know, Bucky and I used to come over here and watch the construction crews when they were building this place.”

No one seemed to know what to say to that until start quipped, “Okay, that kind of puts the feeling old thing into perspective, doesn't it?”

“Mr. Stark, everyone's luggage has been brought up stairs. All that remains is room selection."

Of course Jarvis was here. Though she, Stark, Pepper and Coulson were familiar with the droll computer program, the others weren't. For the most part, they glanced around, looking for hidden speakers, but Rogers swiveled around in search of whoever had spoken.

Well, tossing him into Tony Stark’s house was one way to give Rogers a crash course in the 21st century.

“I require a room with roof access,” Thor intoned as Stark made the wise decision to point everyone towards the stairs rather than crowd them into an elevator.

The request barely caused Stark to blink. “Well, I'm going to remodel the third floor, but we can leave one room intact. It'll be a few days to put the skylight in though.”

“That'll be fine,” Jane said before Thor could add anything else.

If that was the oddest request, then Natasha thought they were getting off lucky.

* * *

Stark Mansion was pretty damn sweet. It beat the hell out of the tiny rooms at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, or even any of the agencies safe houses. The decor of his room, located in the left corner of the second-floor, Madison Avenue side, was far too posh for Clint's taste, but Tony had told him to feel free to make the rooms their own.

He was keeping the bed though.

Seriously, the thing was the size of a boat and very comfortable.

After tossing his duffels onto the weird little padded bench thing, he left the room, poking around and seeing where everyone else had decided to lay their claim.

Natasha's room was opposite his, facing Fifth Avenue, and Darcy beside her. Bruce had settled into one of the interior rooms, while Thor and Jane claimed room on the third floor. Tony had the right corner suite, facing Madison (he claimed the view of the park was far too rustic for him), and Steve had taken the one facing Central Park.

When he poked his head into Natasha’s room, he found that she’d already begun rearranging the place. The heavy lamp had migrated from the dresser to the bedside table and there were swords and knives on the wall. Where she had hidden the larder weapons during the move, he had no clue, but that was just a part of her charm.

“Katanas,” he said, wandering past the door once he knew she’d seen him and wouldn’t be startled into reacting to his presence defensively. That was a good way to lose and eye and Clint didn’t think he could pull off an eye patch with the same aplomb as Fury. Plus, he was pretty sure the boss would not take kindly to having his badass pirate/scary mother-fucker look encroached upon.

Acknowledging his comment, Natasha smiled a little. “Beautiful and deadly,” she said of the weapons, not pausing as she continued to place clothes in drawers or on hangers.

“My favorite combination,” Clint agreed, then settled down onto her little bench, shifting until he was certain it wouldn’t break. About half of the furniture in the mansion looked overly expensive and overly fragile, while the other half looked overly expensive and sturdy.

Seriously, the little table next to him had three spindly legs and looked about as substantial as a tissue. It would be no use at all in the event you needed to use it as an improvised blunt weapon.

“So,” Natasha said, shaking the wrinkles out of the soft looking jade sweater, “who do you lay odds on causing the first scene?”

“Are we talking scene or explosion?” Clint asked, picking up a fine, silvery chain from where Natasha had draped it from a light sconce. He wondered if it was a necklace, a garrote or perhaps both. “Even odds for Tony and Bruce for explosions though.”

Natasha pondered that. “I'll go for the dark horse and say Jane. Something tells me that putting her in close proximity to Stark and Banner is just asking her to let loose.”

“Well, if we can't let our freak flags fly here that would be pretty sad,” Clint said with a grin.

After Natasha finished unpacking, they wandered out into the halls, peering into other rooms and getting a visual on the roommates.

Bruce was sitting at the desk in his room, tapping out a laptop as what sounded like Enya drifted from the small iPod speakers. He seemed settled, so neither of them wanted to disturb him.

Across the hall, Darcy had already stripped the ornate bedding from the bed and was doing battle with the many tasseled ties that held open the curtains. She seemed pretty happy and gave them both a wave. “Hey,” she greeted, tugging on a heavy ornamental rope. “Done unpacking already?”

“For the moment,” Natasha agreed, plucking at the corner of the comforter on the floor. It was a massive gold, burgundy and sapphire, dulled somewhat with age and probably extraordinarily expensive. It was also hideous.

“That is one fugly blanket,” Clint commented, glancing around. “Think whoever lived in here was colorblind?”

Dropping the bedding, Natasha mused, “I highly doubt anyone has actually lived in the majority of these rooms. Pepper told me she and Tony keep apartments at Stark Tower for when they visit the city and today's the first time she's actually been here.”

Darcy blinked at her. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Just wondering how my life went from student in New Mexico to this. I mean, in my world, people don't have spare Manhattan mansions…except, now they do and it's a lot to take in.”

Well, when she put it like that….

Clinton knew he didn't have a particularly normal life, but it'd been a while since he paused and thought about how it might seem to someone on used to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s abnormal… everything. Seriously, no one at HQ was normal, even the office workers could kill a person with a paperclip.

He made a mental note to suggest Natasha work with Darcy and Jane, teach them some hand-to-hand. Call him paranoid, but the crazies had been coming out of the woodwork lately and, by associating with The Avengers, the two women were probably going to have big old bull's-eyes painted on their backs.

When Darcy gave up her struggle with the drapes, she joined them, strolling along the vast hall until he reached Steve's room. Captain America was not alone though, as Tony was sitting on the foot of the bed, simply watching as Steve stared out the window.

Clint was fairly certain that Tony was barely keeping his enthusiasm in check. As a general rule, Tony seemed bored by most people and things, but no one could be bored with Captain America! It was freaking impossible, but Tony managed not to take his fanboying to the creepy, squealing level.

Instead, he seemed to have decided to introduce Cap to all that was fun about the 21st century…well, not everything fun. They weren't just gonna throw the man to the sharks.

From the sound of the conversation they walked in on, Tony was even willing to show Steve the things he found boring, but thought Steve would like. Clint knew how the billionaire felt about art, as Natasha had told him about Pepper’s distress over his careless donation of millions of dollars of priceless art to the Boy Scouts of America.

“There are lots of museums within walking distance, the Met, the Whitney Museum…” Tony was saying, but trailed off as Natasha boldly strode in.

Clint exchanged a look with Darcy, shrugged, and followed her.

“Just so you know,” Darcy said to Tony with a grin, “Thor eats a lot. You might want to warn Sarah.”

“Already done,” Tony said, then noted Natasha's raised eyebrow. “Yes, Pepper told her. But I would've remembered. Speaking of food, who wants to order in massive amounts of take out tonight?”

Which meant there probably wasn't enough food to the house for Thor, but Clint was willing to bet there would be tomorrow.

“Pizza?” Steve said hopefully. Clearly, he was a fan of the classics.

“Pizza, Chinese, Mexican, a few steaks, we'll get some of everything,” Tony replied happily, pulling out his phone and tapping away at it. Clint wondered if he was ordering already.

Settling herself down on the bed, Darcy said, “This reminds me of frat parties…minus the keg.”

Clint saw the moment her words registered with Stark. His fingers stilled on the screen of his phone and he looked up at the younger woman with a smile.

“I like the way you think,” Tony said, them smirked that everyone. Steve was wearing a politely confused expression while Natasha was shaking her head. Darcy was grinning and jumped slightly, surprised when Thor popped around the doorframe.

“Did I hear someone speak of libations?” 

Oh yeah, this assignment was going to be all kinds of fun.

* * *

This had to be some kind of punishment.

For what, he wasn't entirely sure, but it was the only plausible explanation Phil could come up with as to why Director Fury had condemned him to this fate. 

Since his recruitment, Phil had enjoyed a successful career as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s field response agents. Basically, when something hinky popped up, he went out and decided if it was something that needed looking into or, say, a prank organized by bored teenagers.

Honestly, he was damn good at his job.

Somehow, between Stark’s little public announcement about Iron Man, the Thor incident in New Mexico and Stark’s showdown with Vanko, he found himself as the agency’s go to guy when it came to dealing with superheroes.

If it had only been Clint and Natasha, he would've taken no issue with being assigned as their handler. Both were agents, professionals. Rogers was okay…he was Captain America! Even Phil found that a tiny bit are inspiring. Generally, he was pretty well behaved, but damn if he didn't have a rebellious streak in him.

For an alien/god, Thor was surprisingly docile. Keep him fed and in proximity to Jane, with the occasional bad guy to trounce and he was happy.

Handling Banner required a certain, non-combative touch. Threatening to taze him **did not** work out well for anyone and maintaining an air of calm in the face of lab explosions or the Hulk’s rage rampages was a must. But Banner himself wasn't that bad, as he generally wanted to be left alone in his lab.

Then there was Stark. Phil was pretty sure it was one of the man's life goals to give him an ulcer. Orders were treated as idiotic suggestions, he was far too used to getting his own way, he still drank too much for Phil's liking and he went days without sleep or something caught his interest in his workshop.

Take the aforementioned elements, add a Darcy and toss into a mansion with unlimited resources….

He should've known they'd only encourage each other’s worst personality traits.

He left them that first day, while they were staking out rooms and discussing remodeling. Sarah Cook, the blessedly sane woman who ran the house, was asking everyone to give her a list of foods that they would like kept on hand. Ms. Potts was shoving a tablet Stark and everything seemed under control, so he taken his leave for the night.

The next morning, he arrived at 7:15 AM, just as Sarah's twin grandchildren were leaving for school. They were both wide-eyed and the girl gave him a pitying look before saying, “Best of luck.”

Well, that never boded well for any situation.

Cautiously, he entered, gazing around the foyer for signs of anything out of place. Or perhaps the remains of some explosion.

His initial visual scan revealed nothing out of the ordinary, so he strode through the large, open room on the right, knowing it led to the dining room and kitchen. Thor was fond of kitchens (and the food they held), so he thought it was a good place to begin his search.

Stepping through the swinging doors, Phil couldn't help but stop and stare and surprise. It looked like someone had tried to stuff the stock of a big-box store into the room. Among the stacks of packaged foods were an entire palette of Wildliscious Wild Fruit Fusion Pop Tarts, enough Ramen noodles to choke a hippo and a staggering amount of Kraft macaroni and cheese. The crates took up the entire dining room, so, in a daze, he continued on into the actual kitchen.

At least it still looked normal.

Rogers was sitting at the counter, a plate of eggs, bacon, toast and fruit before him. He was sipping a cup of coffee and holding a Yorkshire Terrier in the other hand. Sarah Cook occupied the other seat and was clutching her own drink as she said, “All I know is, we need some soundproofing.”

“Why did your granddaughter wish me luck when I passed her?”

Both Sarah and Rogers turned, the former giving him an unimpressed stare while Cap looked more than mildly guilty.

“Uh, there was a little party last night,” Rogers said, glancing around as though he expected a reprimand.

A party did not explain the surplus of food in the dining room. “And why does it look like someone let a stoned frat boy loose at Sam's Club out there?” He asked, jerking a thumb toward the door.

This time, Sarah answered, giving him a look that said she questioned his intelligence. “Because around 2 AM, Mr.'s Stark, Banner, Barton, Thor and Ms. Lewis thought Sam's sounded like a great idea.”

“It was pretty neat,” Rogers added, then cleared his throat. “Have you seen the rest of the house?”

Oh God. That sounded ominous.

“Why?” he asked after taking a centering breath. “And where is everyone else?”

“Well, Thor decided to put in his own skylight and then, later, did some demolition for where Tony wants to put in a freight elevator,” Steve replied, then smiled brightly. “Tony did call it controlled demolition though. I'm not sure where everyone ended up though .”

“Mr. Stark is asleep in his room. Mr. Thor is on the roof, while Ms. Foster is in their room. Dr. Banner is in his room. Ms. Lewis is in the den. Ms. Romanoff is in the basement… Mr. Barton seems to have gone to ground in the ventilation system,” Jarvis enlightened Phil to the whereabouts of everyone else. He was sure the AI sounded exasperated.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Rogers replied, looking up at the ceiling, as he still hadn't adjusted to addressing the AI. Frankly, Phil thought the man was handling things pretty well. His mother refused to operate anything more complex than a microwave and Cap was taking baby steps towards computer literacy.

Not bad for a man born nearly a century ago.

Accepting the offered cup of coffee, Phil asked, “Do I even want to know about the party?”

Rogers glanced at Sarah, who shrugged and rose, leaving the room to go about whatever morning tasks she had to do. Without any support, Cap admitted, “No. Probably not.”

“Just tell me no laws were broken,” Phil tried to make a joke, as he liked Rogers and didn't want to make the man nervous.

“That would probably depend on your definition of illegal.”

Phil shut his eyes. “Do you think there are any warrants out for anyone's arrest for anything done last night?”

That question drew solid answer from Rogers. “Oh no, nothing like that.”

“What's with the dog?”

Rogers glanced down at the tiny creature and said, “This is Sookie. She's Elizabeth’s. Thomas has an iguana called Ralph.”

Women around the world would probably coo over the site of Cap cradling the furry little dog, but Phil was too busy making a mental note to keep the iguana away from Bruce's lab.

“Ugh, my hair hurts…and why does my mouth tastes like avocado and battery acid?”

Darcy Lewis came staggering into the kitchen, listing worryingly to the right. She was barefoot and wearing the clothes she'd had on the day before, though they now sported a few interesting stains.

“Good morning, Darcy,” Steve said, hopping up and helping her into a chair.

The girl slumped forward onto the counter and let out a grunt.   
“My God, you look like the embodiment of that Ke$ha song,” Phil said, causing her to flip him off without opening her eyes.

“I like her music,” Steve said, patting Darcy’s back gently. “The beat is catchy.”

Phil shook his head, deciding to ignore the fact that Steve had somehow discovered and _liked_ Ke$ha (of all things), and poured her a cup of coffee, pushing it toward her hand. As she gathered the strength to sit up, she said, “Remind me, no more drinking contests with Thor and Natasha. Do you know what hundred proof vomit tastes like? Anger…with just a hint of broken glass.”

Heaving a sigh, Phil said, “You know, I'm pretty sure this wasn't what Director Fury had in mind when he told you all to bond.”

One I cracking open, Darcy glowered at him. “Doesn’t all the best bonding happen around massive quantities of liquor?”

“And will any of you recall any of the so-called bonding?”

“Probably not,” Darcy admitted, heaving herself into a sitting position to huddle over her coffee.

“I learned a few things,” Steve said, trying to placate Phil. “Though I'm not sure any of it will have battlefield applications.”

Unable to help himself (curious as to what the various Avengers had felt free to share while inebriated), Phil asked, “Really? What sort of things?”

Even Darcy roused herself slightly. “Yeah, do tell. Maybe it'll help clear up the cobwebs.”

Steve paused, clearly gathering his thoughts as he fed Sookie some bacon. “The first thing that comes to mind, and we all agreed on this except for Jane, is that Thor should not be allowed to…karaoke. That's the word, right?”

“Oh God, I have a vague memory of that,” Darcy groaned. “Please tell me I was having an alcohol soaked hallucination and he didn't try to sing a Miley Cyrus song….”

Rogers blinked at her. “Hallucination would be better than….”

“Quite, Phil said quickly, making a mental note to harass Stark about having Hannah Montana karaoke available. “What else?”

“Natasha can still throw knives really well after a lot of vodka. Don't change the channel when Bruce's watching Toddlers & Tiaras. After a certain point, Clint starts climbing onto higher and higher pieces of furniture.” Steve listed off odd little facts on his fingers, then his face folded into a confused expression. “Tony patted my stomach for about a half an hour before he fell asleep on the couch. He's very friendly when he drinks."

"Yeah, but everyone wants to touch your abs," Darcy mumbled, them smirked. "And, as it's no longer the 40s, people are a lot more handsy.”

“Oh,” was all Steve could respond to that, tossing Phil look that clearly said, _Tell me she's kidding!_

Trying to reassure him, Phil said, “Not everyone…just most people.”

Cap didn't seem to find that comforting.

Before anything else could be said, Pepper Potts strode into the room, heels clacking on the tile floor. “Well, the good news is that there are no videos or pictures of last night's debauchery online. I've checked everyone's phones for uploads and found none… Though there are some interesting pictures,” the woman said briskly, then looked up from her PDA to smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Phil said his Darcy echoed the sentiment.

“Good morning, Miss Potts,” Steve replied, sounding puzzled. “How are there pictures on phones?”

It was too early for that and clearly Potts agreed. “Ask Tony to explain cell phones to you later,” she said without missing a beat. “Now, who's going to help me get Thor inside before some news helicopter notices the giant, naked man on the roof?”

Phil blinked. Rogers looked uncomfortable and Darcy groaned. “Oh my God, it's like living in a frat house filled with superheroes.”

Phil couldn't find fault understatement and fervently thank whatever gods were listening that he didn't have to live with them.

A week later, he and a room next to Clint's and he was sure that somewhere Fury was having a good laugh at his expense.

* * *

Comments, pretty please?


	2. Chapter 2

On a scale of 1 to 10, Tony would have to rate this morning's hangover at a five. Respectable, but nowhere near the misery he became accustomed to during his Palladium poisoning inspired spiral of self-destruction.

Those were the days that inspired him to promote his liver to CEO of his body. That poor, pickled organ clearly worked harder than any other…well, save his brain, but he couldn’t burden that with trivial things like monitoring alcohol consumption, so liver it was.

A brief inventory of himself and his surroundings revealed that he was alone in his room at Stark Mansion. Someone had left a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin sitting on the bedside table. Either drunk!Tony was getting more considerate of hungover!Tony or one of his new roommates was the caregiver type.

He'd put his money on Jane or Steve.

Unlike the mornings after a blackout drunk, Tony had a fairly clear memory of most of the previous evening. Sure, things were little fuzzy around the edges and the end was pretty much a blur, but he remembered enough to smile.

There'd been a drinking contest between himself, Thor, Barton, Natasha and Darcy. Tony recalled opting out once he saw Thor chug an entire fifth of Jack Daniels. Jane had just managed to talk Darcy out of making jungle juice in a large Waterford punch bowl, something he'd be sure to thank the physicist for.

Bruce proved surprisingly good at beer pong and, after trouncing Clint, settled onto the couch to watch a Toddlers & Tiaras marathon. Steve had soon joined him, both transfixed and horrified by the crazy parents who dressed their innocent (if strung out on sugar and “go-go”juice) children up like showgirls. He’d nearly had a stroke over the one little girl in a version of his old red, white and blue uniform.

In a comfortably buzzed state, Tony had dropped onto the couch, tumbler of Macallen in hand. At some point between seeing Clint scale the bookcase (somehow juggling a handle of vodka and a plate of bacon and cheese stuffed potato skins) and watching the horrible woman on TV tried to bleach her child's teeth, he found himself slumping over.

The next time Steve seemed disturbed (and Tony couldn't blame him for thinking there was something seriously wrong with these patent people), Tony reached out and patted him comfortingly on the stomach.

Really, that was his intent, but he was pretty sure he sat there padding the incredibly impressive abs until he fell asleep and someone put him to bed.

After downing the water and painkillers, Tony made his way downstairs in search of coffee. The hall outside his room was quiet and showed no sign of damage. It looked as though they'd contained their construction efforts to the one area, which was a good thing. Fortunately, they done the demolition before breaking out the booze.

Staggering into the kitchen, he found he wasn't the only one awake.

Steve and Jane were hovering by the stove, immersed in cooking something as Thor, clad only in one of Sarah’s floral aprons, watched with interest. Coulson and Pepper were comparing schedules and Darcy seemed to be sucking coffee through a straw as she lay her head on the granite countertop.

Tony knew he liked her. 

“You couldn't have waited to hire a professional construction crew before knocking out space for a freight elevator?”

At least Pepper sounded amused rather than angry. Amused he could deal with. Snagging the coffee pot, he replied, “Are you kidding me? Thor did the demo in a fraction of the time. Morning, Big Guy, looking sharp.”

The demigod grinned around the pop tart he was eating. “It was no trouble, my friend.”

“Morning, Tony,” Steve greeted him with a smile, looking far too bright eyed and put together after last night. A side effect of the supersoldier serum, no doubt. “Would you like an omelet?”

Though Tony wasn't really one for breakfast, he wasn't about to turn down something Captain America cooked. “Sure, thanks,” he agreed, making his way over to the counter and claiming the seat beside Darcy.

After moment, Coulson asked, “This won't be an everyday occurrence, right? Because I doubt Director Fury would want his new team functioning at decreased readiness due to hangovers.”

“Who's hungover?”

Tony whipped around upon hearing Natasha's voice, forgetting such movements were, for the moment, ill advised. The redheaded spy looked none the worse for drinking what seemed like her body weight in vodka only hours earlier.

She was even doing that creepily silent thing, as was Clint, though he at least had the decency to look faintly gray and was wearing his sunglasses indoors.

“How come you don't look like you want to be put out of your misery?” Darcy moaned unhappily. “You drank way more than I did.”

“Practice,” Natasha replied with a small smile as she drifted toward the coffee pot, which was fortunately programed to refill itself. Tony had a feeling that would be a blessing with everyone in residence. Filling 2 cups, she pressed one into Clint's hand and then pointed at the table. “Go sit before you fall over.”

Cradling his drink, Clint obeyed without protest, dropping into the chair beside Coulson and subsiding into that weird stillness thing he did. If not for the occasional motion required to sip his coffee, he could have been a statue.

That was when Bruce entered from the dining room, box of Ramen in hand. He blinked the crowd, then mumbled, “Oh, hey.”

Eyes fixed on the concentrated cup of sodium, Tony said, “Are you going to eat that? It's…Oh, God, why am I awake at 9 AM?”

Bruce glanced down at the cup of noodles. “I'm not much of a cook.”

“Ramen’s an academic staple, Tony,” Jane said, giving Bruce a kind smile. “I think you'd appreciate it.”

With a shrug, Tony replied, “I do, just not at this ungodly hour.”

“You have an odd interpretation of what constitutes an ungodly hour,” Coulson said with a snort.

“Would you like some eggs, Bruce? Or an omelet?” Steve asked, sliding a plate bearing an omelet across the counter to Tony.

Setting the Ramen aside, Bruce nodded. “Eggs would be great. Thanks.”

And thus was the first team breakfast. 

Tony managed to down 5 cups of coffee before Pepper and Steve started giving him looks of disapproval, but he mollified them by eating the entire omelet. Steve had eaten already (Darcy later got him to admit that he'd been up at five for a run, a workout and a shower before anyone else stirred. Clearly, he was one of those morning people), but he seemed to enjoy the company. Jane split her time between coaxing Darcy to eat some toast and subtly suggesting to Thor, who was working on his second box of Pop Tarts, that he might want to get dressed. Natasha ate and subtly inspected the silverware, probably judging how lethal it was. Clint fell asleep, though no one noticed until he let out a snuffly little snore. Bruce seemed pleased with the eggs and was, for him, fairly chatty.

Pepper and Coulson were commiserating, clearly having decided that they were the only sane people in the room.

“So,” Coulson eventually said once everyone was fed, caffeinated, upright and awake (if not alert), “For the next few days, you will not be required to report to HQ. Consider it a long weekend best used for getting to know each other, getting settled in…”

“We're going shopping,” Tony piped up, sliding a tablet over to Pepper. “I'll need those materials for the lab refit I want to do downstairs, but Steve needs clothes.”

“I have clothes,” Steve protested, but Tony waved him off.

“Yes, I saw you unpack what, three pairs of pants and five shirts? That is not a wardrobe. And Thor, how much do you have that isn’t leather, chain mail or a cape?” Tony replied, wagging his finger at the flowery apron. “How about some pajama pants? Bruce, how about you? Saw the one knapsack you brought with you. We're going to be public figures people. It's about image.”

“Dude, as often as you used to pop up on TMZ and you’re lecturing us about image?” Clint said, and then flinched. “Who kicked me?”

Darcy was glaring at him. “Of course they need new clothes. I was going out to buy a comforter that doesn't smell like my great aunt Tula, so I totally volunteer to help!”

Tony had the feeling his new friends were about to suffer the indignity of being used as life-size, anatomically correct Ken dolls. Thor would probably take things well, as he generally seemed affable and easily entertained. They'd have to keep an eye on Bruce, spring him from the stores if he began to show signs of irritation. Having him Hulk out in the middle of Neiman Marcus would be terrible PR…though watching Fury twitch was always amusing. Poor Steve would probably be overwhelmed and embarrassed within the first 10 minutes, but he'd be too polite to comment.

All in all, not your average shopping trip.

They parted ways with Coulson and Pepper as they left the mansion, Pepper citing work at Stark Tower, but Tony bet Coulson was monitoring them from a distance using traffic cams and CCTV. He thought the man just didn't want to be around them when all hell broke loose, which it probably would.

Individually, members of their new team attracted a variety of less than desirable foes, so it stood to reason that, together, they'd be a magnet for the super crazy, super villain set. Look at the X-Men, or even the Fantastic 4. How many times a Doom attacked the Baxter building? And Tony was willing to bet very little of Xavier's Westchester mansion was part of the original structure, what with the occasional invasions by the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants (subtle) or the US military.

Note to self: reinforce all loadbearing beams and walls in the mansion and upgrade his already insanely sophisticated security system.

They were an…eclectic group to say the least. Each of the ladies had their own distinct style. Natasha wore fitted black trousers and boots with a stacked heel, paired with an emerald button-down and black leather jacket. Her hair fell in a loose array of curls and she looked both lovely and deadly.

As usual.

Jane’s look was classic, with an outdoorsy/academic flair. Slim cut khakis were tucked into work boots and she wore thick leather belt around her hips. For top she'd layer to T-shirt, a light sweater and a canvas jacket, somehow making the whole thing look elegant.

Fun and young would be the words Tony would use to describe Darcy's style. Jeans, heavy leather boots and a graphic tee under a canvas jacket, her quirky glasses perched on her nose.

Cute would also be very apt and he thought she was young enough that the term would not be considered condescending.

Considering their lightweight coats, Tony wondered if they had warmer clothes. New York winters would not be kind to people used to New Mexico.

Thor seemed impervious to the slight chill in the air, happily strolling around in jeans and a slightly too small red T-shirt. With his blond hair and build, he looked like a male model, though Tony had rarely seen a model who looked as genuinely happy as Thor.

Perhaps that had something to do with the amount of sugar the demigod ate. Tony had thought Jane was going to smack Clint upside the head when the archer produced a jar of marshmallow fluff and suggested to Thor that it would make a good filling for Pop Tart sandwiches.

Speaking of Clint, he, like Natasha, seemed to favor a wardrobe that consisted of varying shades of black. Jeans, combat boots, leather jacket – all black. The T he wore under the jacket was heather gray and his wraparound sunglasses had a tint of green, the only color in his ensemble.

Bruce was wearing a truly unfortunate pair of plum colored corduroy trousers, battered Converse sneakers and a stretched out black fleece. He didn't seem thrilled by the prospect of venturing out into the city, but he’d heaved a put upon sigh and popped a couple of Xanax in the name of team solidarity.

Compared to Bruce's rumpled look, Steve seemed even neater in his pressed, pleated (yeah, they were going to have to do something about that) khakis, a pale blue checked Oxford and buff colored Bucks. His hair looked like he'd used a ruler to make sure the part was straight and Tony really wanted to reach out and mess him up a little.

Seriously, he'd yet to see the man looked anything but perfect.

Tony himself rounded out the group in blue jeans, Moncler Monaco sneakers and a long-sleeved T-shirt he'd had silkscreened with the atomic diagram of the element powering his arc reactor. He too wore light leather jacket, though his was brown instead of black.

Yeah, they probably looked a bit odd together.

After some discussion they started the day off hunting for clothes in a large department store and, thanks to the unflappable nature of most New Yorkers, their…unique group didn't raise many eyebrows.

Okay, so Thor's attempted conversation with the police horse did earn a few stares and Steve was hissed at when he was caught gaping at a man with full facial and skull tattoos. 

In the grand tradition of high-end sales staff, a woman materialized mere moments after they entered the store. Tony had the theory that these women were hired for their mutant ability to smell black charge cards.

“May I offer you some assistance?” She said, eyes scanning the group before settling on Tony (which caused her to gape momentarily), “Mr. Stark?!”

That reaction was why Pepper bought most of his clothes that weren’t made to order by his tailor.

Which reminded him, he'd have to make an appointment for Thor and Steve with Murray. They weren't exactly off the rack guys. Hell, he'd suit up Bruce and Clint too, though Bruce's would probably end up in shreds and Clint would probably look at him like gone insane.

Hmmm, better bring Natasha. It wouldn't be nice to leave her out, plus she’d probably appreciate a finely cut suit more than any of the others.

“Yes,” he replied, pausing to read her name tag, “Raquel. Some of my friends here need new wardrobes.”

He could practically see the dollar signs flash in Raquel’s eyes (and, 10 to 1, her name was really Rachel) as she looked over the cluster of them. “That's definitely something I can help you with! Shall we start with…?”

“Men's department,” Natasha said, tiring of the sales woman's sucking up. Pointing to Steve, Thor and Bruce, she declared, “Them first.”

Tony gave Raquel points for immediately realizing Natasha was someone to be afraid of. Bright smile plastered on her face, the woman led them to the store, muttering into her Bluetooth. There was a momentary hold up at the escalators (Steve wasn't fond of them), but nothing too distracting.

When they reached men's clothing, a small troop of skinny, black clad men and women were waiting, summoned by Raquel, who established herself as the alpha fashion vampire (seriously, all fashion people seemed in dire need of sun, a dozen bacon cheeseburgers and a sense of humor) by tossing out directions.

“Michael, Andrew, Katya, measurements! Lisle, Sasha, see if anyone would like a beverage. Is there anything specific you'd like to see Mr. Stark?”

Oh, lovely. She thinks I’m playing sugar daddy. Pepper would probably kill him tomorrow when word got out that he'd been seen outfitting three good-looking man. Rumors would abound. 

Whatever. Not like that would be the worst rumor anyone had ever started about him. He’d buy the ladies some things too, keep the tabloids wondering. “Whatever they want.”

Like hungry wolves, the three store employees with tape measures descended upon Steve, Thor and Bruce. The whole process seemed to unnerve Steve, who was blushing even before Thor looked down at the man checking his inseam and rumbled, “Careful with thine hands, friend.”

Bruce barely seem to notice as the girl did her thing with the measuring tape, making Tony wonder how many pills the man had taken. Mentally, he gave a shrug. As long as Banner was upright and conscious, he should be okay and there wasn’t even a hint of green in his complexion as he stared off into space.

Once the salespeople figured out what sizes the three men wore, the actual clothing selections began and several things became evident.

Despite his intelligence, Bruce could not be trusted to stay away from purple…well, purple anything. Tony was of the opinion that most grown men should not wear plum or eggplant and both lavender and lilac washed Banner out terribly. They did however find a funky pair of purple Nikes for him and that everyone liked.

Bright and bold colors seem to call out to Thor and Jane had to delicately explain to him why the “shirt of golden mail” he'd seen downstairs was not a good selection for him.

Tony was pretty sure it was some kind of mesh lame, which…no. Just no.

Unsurprisingly, Steve's taste ran to the old-fashioned. Khakis, button down shirts, a boatload of plaid and suspenders were his preference, though he was open to the idea of jeans and T-shirts. He was very fond of layers and, when questioned, simply replied, “I don't like the cold.”

That prompted everyone in the know to practically throw sweaters, hoodies and jackets at him. He seemed particularly pleased with the blue sweatshirt that read _Brooklyn_ across the front. Tony surreptitiously tapped his phone, ordering a dozen new down comforters for the house, just to have extras on hand.

Eventually, Thor began to fidget and Steve looked ready to crawl under her chair in embarrassment when one of the sales girls arrived carrying dozens of CK boxers, boxer briefs, T-shirts and socks.

It was probably a good thing that the poor guy had months to adapt before bikini season arrived and girls and their barely there summer wear sprawled around the park on nice days. 

As they left the store, Tony made arrangements for their purchases to be delivered to the mansion. There was a slight brush with trouble when they had to pass by the lingerie department and Steve looked like he was about to have a coronary, but they made it onto the street without further incidents.

Deciding the poor man needed some time to regain his equilibrium, Tony suggested lunch. Again there was some squabbling over where to eat (Thor wanted to visit “The diner of pancakes!”), but Darcy won out by pointing at the Applebee's down the street.

Tony had the feeling that food would be an important part of keeping the peace and sanity of this group intact.

 

Comments, pretty please?


	3. Chapter 3

To be honest, Pepper wasn't sure what to expect when she entered Stark Mansion just before 7 PM. More than half of her thought she might find this superpowered keg party in progress, while the other possibilities she pondered included finding the foyer smashed due to more remodeling (or an accidental Hulk incident) or perhaps some terrifying training exercise involving hidden snipers designed by Clint and Natasha.

Instead, she found a house to be surprisingly peaceful.

“Jarvis,” she said, addressing the AI, unable to contain her suspicion. Quiet and Tony Stark were not two things that were ever good together. It usually meant he was planning something. “Are the Avengers in?”

“Yes, Ms. Potts.”

“Really?”

“I am surprised by the lack of chaos as well. Mr. Stark and Mr. Barton are in the basement, discussing the installation of the firing range. Captain Rogers, Doctor Banner, Agent Romanoff and Ms. Lewis are in the den, while Mr. Thor and Doctor Foster are in their room. I believe they are attempting to temporarily seal the gaping hole in the roof.”

Having Jarvis around really did make her job a bit easier sometimes.

Since the den was on the ground floor, Pepper took a left and strolled toward the room with the large television.

She slowed as she drew closer, listening to the sounds of TV and conversation.

“I've never heard of most of these foods,” Steve was saying over the sounds of _Chopped_. 

Peering into the den, Pepper saw the four of them sitting peacefully on the couches. Bruce seemed transfixed by the TV, sedately watching some chef attempt to debone a tilapia. Sookie, the Yorkie, was sprawled on his lap, seemingly delighted to have him pat her back.

Pepper had once read that people with pets were less stressed, so this was probably a mutually beneficial situation.

“Don’t feel bad. Neither have I,” Darcy reassured Steve. The two of them were sitting cross-legged, facing each other, Natasha watching them with interest. Steve had one of Darcy’s hands in his and was bent over…painting a delicate design on her nails. 

Further inspection revealed a box of multicolored polishes on the girl’s lap. In Steve’s large hand, the brush looked absurdly tiny but he seemed comfortable with it.

It was Natasha who noticed her, giving her a tiny smile before declaring, “I’m next.”

“Good evening, Miss…Ms. Potts,” Steve said, pausing what he was doing to look up and acknowledge her with one of his heart warming smiles.

“Hey!” Darcy greeted her with a grin and brandished one of her hands. “Look what Steve did!”

The base color on her nails was a shining, almost metallic blue onto which Steve had added numerous, intricate swirls of white and silver. The finished effect was quite lovely.

“Beautifully done,” Pepper replied, wondering how Captain America had gotten himself roped into playing manicurist. Then she recalled reading a biography of the man that mentioned that he had been an artist. “How went the shopping expedition?”

“No outright disasters,” Natasha replied, then raised a brow. “Though you'll probably be fielding questions about the seeming harem Stark’s acquired.”

Rolling her eyes, Pepper pled, “Oh, don't say things like that! I wouldn't put it past Jameson to run that as his headline!”

“On the bright side, the paparazzi probably won't pick up on the fact that Steve's Captain America, seeing as how they think he's dead,” Darcy said, waving her now finished nails to air dry them. “Plus, if my mom sees those pictures, she'll be thrilled. Don’t ask.”

Pepper wondered how much sugar and caffeine the younger woman had ingested as Steve said, “I’m sure the news service wouldn't run anything to inflammatory about Tony. He's a Stark.”

When he said things like that, Pepper just wanted to pat him on the head. From the expressions on their faces, Darcy and Natasha felt the same. Rousing himself from his Food Network tunnel vision, Bruce turned and said, “Modern newspapers feed on scandal, Steve. The dirtier the better in their opinion.”

Frowning as though about to say more, Steve held his tongue when Natasha lifted a bottle of wine dark polish. “This one,” she declared and Darcy surrendered her spot, allowing Natasha to sit in front of Steve. “Don't worry about the press, Steve. Pepper is used to doing damage control for Tony. You can trust her.”

As he shook the little bottle, Steve blinked. “Of course I trust this Potts. Tony trusts her and I trust him.”

Again, Pepper just wanted to ruffle his hair. Maybe give him some milk and cookies.

It was Darcy who chuckled. “Tony is all kinds of awesome, but why do I get the feeling that sometimes listening to him is the reason you end up in Mexico with a monkey and no pants…though if the frat boys in New Mexico managed actual Mexico, I imagine Tony’d be more creative, like Cuba or Tunguska.”

She was not entirely wrong in that assessment. Rhodey could attest to that. “Speaking of Tony….”

“Still in the basement, Ms. Potts.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Pepper said, then looked at the four of them and bemusement. Darcy had joined Bruce in watching the show well Steve was carefully coating Natasha's nails with the Burgundy polish. “Have fun up here.”

“Bye,” they chorused as she turned and strode towards the stairs that led to the basement. She'd long ago learned not to use the elevators during any of Tony's home renovation projects.

You never knew when he'd feel the need to take the power off-line.

“I was thinking we could set up some kind of random target generators…holo-emitters mixed with real physical targets….”

“So we're lauding this whole side of the level for training?” Clint sounded quite pleased by that idea. “With the gym and training room beside the pool?”

Pepper rounded the corner in time to see Tony gesture. “That's right! The labs will be in the subbasement below us.”

“Is that really wise? A few miscalculations and the foundation could be compromised,” Pepper commented, causing both men to turn and stare at her.

Tony waved a hand. “I'm going to reinforce the walls, which are already….”

“3’ to 3.5’ thick.”

Until she spoke, Pepper hadn't noticed Liz Cook hovering by one of the far walls, some insanely complicated piece of electronics in hand.

“Tony,” Pepper hissed. “You do realize Thomas and Liz don't actually work for you, right?”

“I know.” He looked put out for a moment, then grinned. “She wants to help. Next year, Liz is heading off to my alma mater.”

Oh. Pepper did not like the little gleam in his eye when he said that. All this world needed was for Tony to decide he wanted to take on the protégé to mold into his own image. Hopefully, he'd lose interest and hopefully Sarah had managed to impart some of her common sense to her granddaughter.

Deciding it would be best to distract him, Pepper asked, “Dare I ask how many paparazzi you baited on your little shopping trip?”

Tony snorted. “Like they need to be baited. Clint was the one who put one of them in the sleeper hold.”

Turning her gaze to the other man, Pepper ground out. “What?”

The sniper shrugged. “He snuck into the dressing rooms. Thor wanted to throw out the window, so I wouldn't say I overreacted.”

“That’s the point against which we are measuring the appropriateness of our reactions? Better or worse than throwing someone out of a window? And now you're designing a space in the basement where there will be intentional explosions instead of the usual unintended ones. Lovely."

Tony just grinned. “Great, isn't it!”

Not the word she'd use, but then Pepper considered the fact that he was interacting (more or less civilly) with a group of people, had eaten at least two meals today and was sober.

Maybe all this craziness would lead to something great.

* * *

Comments, pretty please?


End file.
